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35
Through all my ſpirite ran
an extacy of bliſs
When I ſuch ſweetneſs fand
wrapt in a balmy kiſs.
Without the help of art.
like flowers which grace the wild,
She did her ſweets impart.
whene’er ſhe ſpoke or ſmil’d:
Her looks they were ſo mild,
free from affected pride,
She me to love beguil’d,
I wiſh’d her for my bride.
O had I all the wealth
Hopeton’s high mountains fill,
Inſur’d long life and health,
and pleaſures at my will,
I’d promiſe and fulfil.
that none but bonny ſhe,
The laſs of Patie’s mill.
ſhou’d ſhare the ſame with me.
The Flower of Yarrow.
Happy’s the love which meets return,
When in ſoft flames ſouls equal burn;
But words are wanting to diſcover
